Poetry quotes

And now good-morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room an everywhere.

Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone; Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown; Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

For love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone; Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;

Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally;

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres Without sharp north, without declining west?

Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally;

If our two loves be one, or thou and I Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

Where can we find two better hemispheres Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally; If our two loves be one, or thou and I Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil’s foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy’s stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.

Then you have done a braver thing Than all the Worthies did; And a braver thence will spring, Which is, to keep that hid.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,

Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices;

Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices;

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, “All here in one bed lay.”

She’s all states, and all princes I;

Nothing else is; Princes do but play us; compared to this, All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world’s contracted thus;

compared to this, All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world’s contracted thus; Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere.

Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world’s contracted thus; Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that’s done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere.

I can love both fair and brown; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays; Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays; Her whom the country form’d, and whom the town; Her who believes, and her who tries;

Her whom the country form’d, and whom the town; Her who believes, and her who tries; Her who still weeps with spongy eyes, And her who is dry cork, and never cries. I can love her, and her, and you, and you;

I can love any, so she be not true.

Will no other vice content you? Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers? Or have you all old vices spent and now would find out others? Or doth a fear that men are true torment you?

Or have you all old vices spent and now would find out others? Or doth a fear that men are true torment you? O we are not, be not you so; Let me—and do you—twenty know;

Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.

Must I, who came to travel thorough you, Grow your fix’d subject, because you are true?

Do thy will then; then subject and degree And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee. Spare me till then; I’ll bear it, though she be One that love me.

For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love;

Or chide my palsy, or my gout; My five grey hairs, or ruin’d fortune flout; With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve; Take you a course, get you a place, Observe his Honour, or his Grace;

We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tomb or hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no piece of chronicle we prove, We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;

As well a well-wrought urn becomes

The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, And by these hymns all shall approve Us canonized for love;

And if no piece of chronicle we prove, We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms; As well a well-wrought urn becomes

The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,

And by these hymns all shall approve Us canonized for love;

Who did the whole world’s soul contract, drove Into the glasses of your eyes; So made such mirrors, and such spies, That they did all to you epitomize— Countries, towns, courts beg from above A pattern of your love.”

I am two fools, I know,

For loving, and for saying so In whining poetry; But where’s that wise man, that would not be I, If she would not deny?

I am two fools, I know,

For loving, and for saying so

In whining poetry; But where’s that wise man, that would not be I, If she would not deny?

But where’s that wise man, that would not be I, If she would not deny? Then as th’ earth’s inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea water’s fretful salt away, I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhyme’s vexation, I should them allay.

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,

For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

Then as th’ earth’s inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea water’s fretful salt away, I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhyme’s vexation, I should them allay. Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,

For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

But when I have done so, Some man, his art and voice to show, Doth set and sing my pain; And, by delighting many, frees again Grief, which verse did restrain.

To love and grief tribute of verse belongs, But not of such as pleases when ’tis read. Both are increasèd by such songs, For both their triumphs so are published, And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.

Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

If yet I have not all thy love, Dear, I shall never have it all; I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move, Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;

Love’s riddles are, that though thy heart depart, It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it; But we will have a way more liberal, Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall Be one, and one another’s all.

Sweetest love, I do not go,

For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I At the last must part, ’tis best, Thus to use myself in jest By feigned deaths to die.

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfil. But think that we Are but turn’d aside to sleep.

They who one another keep

Alive, ne’er parted be.

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfil. But think that we Are but turn’d aside to sleep. They who one another keep

Alive, ne’er parted be.

When last I died, and, dear, I die As often as from thee I go, Though it be but an hour ago —And lovers’ hours be full eternity— I can remember yet, that I Something did say, and something did bestow;

All kings, and all their favourites, All glory of honours, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes time, as they pass, Is elder by a year now than it was When thou and I first one another saw. All other things to their destruction draw,

Only our love hath no decay;

This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday; Running it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay; This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday;

Running it never runs from us away,

But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay; This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday; Running it never runs from us away,

But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

Two graves must hide thine and my corse; If one might, death were no divorce. Alas!

And then we shall be throughly blest; But now no more than all the rest. Here upon earth we’re kings, and none but we Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be.

Who is so safe as we? where none can do

Treason to us, except one of us two. True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.

And then we shall be throughly blest; But now no more than all the rest. Here upon earth we’re kings, and none but we Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be. Who is so safe as we? where none can do

Treason to us, except one of us two.

True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.

’Tis much that glass should be As all-confessing, and through-shine as I; ’Tis more that it shows thee to thee, And clear reflects thee to thine eye. But all such rules love’s magic can undo;

Here you see me, and I am you.

As no one point, nor dash, Which are but accessories to this name, The showers and tempests can outwash So shall all times find me the same; You this entireness better may fulfill, Who have the pattern with you still.

If they were good, it would be seen;

Good is as visible as green,

And to all eyes itself betrays. If they were bad, they could not last; Bad doth itself and others waste; So they deserve nor blame, nor praise.

But they are ours as fruits are ours; He that but tastes, he that devours, And he that leaves all, doth as well;

Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat;

And when he hath the kernel eat, Who doth not fling away the shell?

But they are ours as fruits are ours; He that but tastes, he that devours, And he that leaves all, doth as well; Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat; And when he hath the kernel eat,

Who doth not fling away the shell?

I scarce believe my love to be so pure As I had thought it was, Because it doth endure Vicissitude, and season, as the grass; Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore My love was infinite, if spring make it more.

But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow With more, not only be no quintessence, But mix’d of all stuffs, vexing soul, or sense, And of the sun his active vigour borrow,

Love’s not so pure, and abstract as they use

To say, which have no mistress but their Muse; But as all else, being elemented too, Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

But as all else, being elemented too,

Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

And yet no greater, but more eminent, Love by the spring is grown; As in the firmament Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown, Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough, From love’s awaken’d root do bud out now.

Whoe’er rigg’d fair ships to lie in harbours, And not to seek lands, or not to deal with all? Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours, Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?

Good is not good, unless

A thousand it possess, But doth waste with greediness.

Whoe’er rigg’d fair ships to lie in harbours, And not to seek lands, or not to deal with all? Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours, Only to lock up, or else to let them fall? Good is not good, unless

A thousand it possess,

But doth waste with greediness.

Hope not for mind in women; at their best, Sweetness and wit they are, but mummy, possess’d.

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deniest me is; It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. Thou know’st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deniest me is;

It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. Thou know’st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

O stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, yea, more than married are This flea is you and I, and this

Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.

Though parents grudge, and you, we’re met, And cloister’d in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, yea, more than married are

This flea is you and I, and this

Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is. Though parents grudge, and you, we’re met, And cloister’d in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know, and see thy lies, And may laugh and joy, when thou Art in anguish And dost languish For someone That will none, Or prove as false as thou art now.

’Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,

Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays; The world’s whole sap is sunk;

For I am a very dead thing, In whom Love wrought new alchemy. For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull privations, and lean emptiness; He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot

Of absence, darkness, death⁠—things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that’s good, Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have; I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood Have we two wept, and so Drown’d the whole world, us two;

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait: That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,

Alas! is wiser far than I.

When by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead, And that thou think’st thee free From all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, feign’d vestal, in worse arms shall see:

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,

For thou thyself art thine own bait:

That fish, that is not catch’d thereby, Alas! is wiser far than I.

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait:

That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,

Alas! is wiser far than I.

When by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead, And that thou think’st thee free From all solicitation from me,

Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

And thee, feign’d vestal, in worse arms shall see:

And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie A verier ghost than I. What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,

I’d rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, I’d rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

He is stark mad, whoever says, That he hath been in love an hour, Yet not that love so soon decays, But that it can ten in less space Who will believe me, if I swear devour; That I have had the plague a year?

What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, I’d rather thou shouldst painfully repent, Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

He is stark mad, whoever says,

That he hath been in love an hour, Yet not that love so soon decays, But that it can ten in less space Who will believe me, if I swear devour; That I have had the plague a year?

That I have had the plague a year? Who would not laugh at me, if I should say I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,

If once into love’s hands it come! All other griefs allow a part To other griefs, and ask themselves but some; They come to us, but us love draws; He swallows us and never chaws; By him, as by chain’d shot, whole ranks do die;

All other griefs allow a part To other griefs, and ask themselves but some; They come to us, but us love draws; He swallows us and never chaws; By him, as by chain’d shot, whole ranks do die;

He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If ’twere not so, what did become Of my heart when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the room, But from the room I carried none with me.

As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, “Now his breath goes,” and some say, “No.”

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; ’Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears; Men reckon what it did, and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers’ love

—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit Of absence, ’cause it doth remove The thing which elemented it.

Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

And though it in the centre sit, Yet, when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th’ other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

Where, like a pillow on a bed, A pregnant bank swell’d up, to rest The violet’s reclining head, Sat we two, one another’s best.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

To our bodies turn we then, that so Weak men on love reveal’d may look; Love’s mysteries in souls do grow,

But yet the body is his book.

And if some lover, such as we, Have heard this dialogue of one, Let him still mark us, he shall see Small change when we’re to bodies gone.

To our bodies turn we then, that so Weak men on love reveal’d may look;

Love’s mysteries in souls do grow,

But yet the body is his book.

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I, As though I felt the worst that love could do? Love may make me leave loving, or might try A deeper plague, to make her love me too; Which, since she loves before, I’m loth to see.

Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,

If she whom I love, should love me.

And so my soul, more earnestly released, Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before A later bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.

Thou art not so black as my heart,

Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art; What wouldst thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke, —Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?

To all, which all love, I say no. If any who deciphers best, What we know not—ourselves—can know, Let him teach me that nothing. This As yet my ease and comfort is, Though I speed not, I cannot miss.

Take heed of loving me;

At least remember, I forbade it thee; Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou wast; But so great joy our life at once outwears.

Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou wast; But so great joy our life at once outwears. Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,

If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

Take heed of hating me, Or too much triumph in the victory; Not that I shall be mine own officer, And hate with hate again retaliate; But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror, If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate.

Yet love and hate me too; So these extremes shall ne’er their office do; Love me, that I may die the gentler way;

Hate me, because thy love’s too great for me;

Or let these two, themselves, not me, decay; So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be. Lest thou thy love and hate, and me undo, O let me live, yet love and hate me too.

Yet love and hate me too; So these extremes shall ne’er their office do;

Love me, that I may die the gentler way;

Hate me, because thy love’s too great for me; Or let these two, themselves, not me, decay; So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be. Lest thou thy love and hate, and me undo, O let me live, yet love and hate me too.

Tears drown’d one hundred, and sighs blew out two; A thousand, I did neither think, nor do, Or not divide, all being one thought of you; Or in a thousand more, forgot that too. Yet call not this long life; but think that I

Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts die?

No lover saith, I love, nor any other Can judge a perfect lover; He thinks that else none can or will agree, That any loves but he; I cannot say I loved, for who can say He was kill’d yesterday.

If our loves faint, and westwardly decline, To me thou, falsely, thine And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. The morning shadows wear away, But these grow longer all the day; But O! love’s day is short, if love decay.

Love is a growing, or full constant light,

And his short minute, after noon, is night.

Love is a growing, or full constant light,

And his short minute, after noon, is night.

Send me some tokens, that my hope may live Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest; Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive, That in my passions I may hope the best.

Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall A too-bold captain perish’d by the fall, Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied, That had a town for tomb, his bones to hide.

I am unable, yonder beggar cries,

To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

I am unable, yonder beggar cries,

To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

If you from spoil of th’ old world’s farthest end To the new world your kindled valours bend, What brave examples then do prove it true That one thing’s end doth still begin a new.

Beyond th’ old Pillars many have travalled Towards the sun’s cradle, and his throne, and bed. A fitter pillar our Earl did bestow In that late island; for he well did know Farther than Wingfield no man dares to go.

Your mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth you;

’Tis strange that she should thus confess it, though ’t be true.

Your mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth you;

’Tis strange that she should thus confess it, though ’t be true.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call; For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

Your mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth you; ’Tis strange that she should thus confess it, though ’t be true.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call;

For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call;

For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

If in his study he hath so much care To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call; For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

If in his study he hath so much care

To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

If in his study he hath so much care

To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

Thy father all from thee, by his last will, Gave to the poor; thou hast good title still.

If in his study he hath so much care To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

Thy father all from thee, by his last will,

Gave to the poor; thou hast good title still.

Thy father all from thee, by his last will,

Gave to the poor; thou hast good title still.

Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee, Only in this, that you both painted be.

Thy father all from thee, by his last will, Gave to the poor; thou hast good title still.

Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,

Only in this, that you both painted be.

Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,

Only in this, that you both painted be.

Philo with twelve years’ study hath been grieved To be understood; when will he be believed?

Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee, Only in this, that you both painted be.

Philo with twelve years’ study hath been grieved

To be understood; when will he be believed?

Philo with twelve years’ study hath been grieved

To be understood; when will he be believed?

Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne’er more to come In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

Philo with twelve years’ study hath been grieved To be understood; when will he be believed?

Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne’er more to come

In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne’er more to come

In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

Why this man gelded Martial I muse, Except himself alone his tricks would use, As Katherine, for the court’s sake, put down stews.

Why this man gelded Martial I muse, Except himself alone his tricks would use, As Katherine, for the court’s sake, put down stews.

Like Esop’s fellow-slaves, O Mercury,

Which could do all things, thy faith is; and I Like Esop’s self, which nothing. I confess I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less. Thy credit lost thy credit.

Thy credit lost thy credit. ’Tis sin to do, In this case, as thou wouldst be done unto, To believe all. Change thy name; thou art like Mercury in stealing, but liest like a Greek.

Compassion in the world again is bred;

Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed.

Compassion in the world again is bred;

Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed.

Thou in the fields walk’st out thy supping hours And yet thou swear’st thou hast supped like a king; Like Nebuchadnezar perchance with grass and flowers, A salad worse then Spanish dieting.

Things simply good can never be unfit; She’s fair as any, if all be like her; And if none be, then she is singular. All love is wonder; if we justly do Account her wonderful, why not lovely too?

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies;

Choose this face, changed by no deformities. Women are all like angels; the fair be Like those which fell to worse; but such as she, Like to good angels, nothing can impair: ’Tis less grief to be foul, than to have been fair.

And if none be, then she is singular. All love is wonder; if we justly do Account her wonderful, why not lovely too? Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies; Choose this face, changed by no deformities.

Women are all like angels; the fair be

Like those which fell to worse; but such as she, Like to good angels, nothing can impair: ’Tis less grief to be foul, than to have been fair. For one night’s revels, silk and gold we choose, But, in long journeys, cloth, and leather use.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies; Choose this face, changed by no deformities. Women are all like angels; the fair be Like those which fell to worse; but such as she, Like to good angels, nothing can impair:

’Tis less grief to be foul, than to have been fair.

For one night’s revels, silk and gold we choose, But, in long journeys, cloth, and leather use. Beauty is barren oft; best husbands say There is best land, where there is foulest way.

Waters stink soon, if in one place they bide, And in the vast sea are more putrified; But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this Never look back, but the next bank do kiss, Then are they purest; change is the nursery

Of music, joy, life, and eternity.

Once, and but once, found in thy company, All thy supposed escapes are laid on me;

I planted knowledge and life’s tree in thee; Which O! shall strangers taste? Must I, alas! Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass? Chafe wax for other’s seals? break a colt’s force, And leave him then, being made a ready horse?

As the sweet sweat of roses in a still,

As that which from chafed musk cat’s pores doth trill, As the almighty balm of th’ early east, Such are the sweat drops of my mistress’ breast; And on her neck her skin such lustre sets, They seem no sweat drops, but pearl carcanets.

So kiss good turtles, so devoutly nice Are priests in handling reverent sacrifice, And nice in searching wounds the surgeon is, As we, when we embrace, or touch, or kiss. Leave her, and I will leave comparing thus, She and comparisons are odious.

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace

As I have seen in one autumnal face; Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape; This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape. If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame; Affections here take reverence’s name.

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnal face; Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape;

This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.

If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame; Affections here take reverence’s name. Were her first years the Golden Age? that’s true, But now they’re gold oft tried, and ever new. That was her torrid and inflaming time;

Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out, than made; Whose every tooth to a several place is gone, To vex their souls at resurrection; Name not these living death-heads unto me, For these, not ancient, but antique be.

I hate extremes; yet I had rather stay

With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day. Since such love’s motion natural is, may still My love descend, and journey down the hill, Not panting after growing beauties; so I shall ebb out with them who homeward go.

Whose every tooth to a several place is gone, To vex their souls at resurrection; Name not these living death-heads unto me, For these, not ancient, but antique be. I hate extremes; yet I had rather stay

With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.

Since such love’s motion natural is, may still My love descend, and journey down the hill, Not panting after growing beauties; so I shall ebb out with them who homeward go.

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace

As I have seen in one autumnal face;

Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape; This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape. If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame; Affections here take reverence’s name. Were her first years the Golden Age?

that’s true, But now they’re gold oft tried, and ever new. That was her torrid and inflaming time; This is her tolerable tropic clime. Fair eyes; who asks more heat than comes from hence, He in a fever wishes pestilence.

Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,

They were Love’s graves, for else he is nowhere.

That was her torrid and inflaming time; This is her tolerable tropic clime. Fair eyes; who asks more heat than comes from hence, He in a fever wishes pestilence. Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,

They were Love’s graves, for else he is nowhere.

Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit, Vow’d to this trench, like an anachorite, And here, till hers, which must be his death, come, He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb. Here dwells he;

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnal face;

Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape;

This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape. If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame; Affections here take reverence’s name. Were her first years the Golden Age? that’s true, But now they’re gold oft tried, and ever new.

But, dearest heart and dearer image, stay; Alas! true joys at best are dream enough; Though you stay here, you pass too fast away, For even at first life’s taper is a snuff.

Fill’d with her love, may I be rather grown

Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

But, dearest heart and dearer image, stay; Alas! true joys at best are dream enough; Though you stay here, you pass too fast away, For even at first life’s taper is a snuff. Fill’d with her love, may I be rather grown

Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

Upon the loss of his mistress’s chain, for which he made satisfaction.

Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see. When you are gone, and reason gone with you, Then fantasy is queen and soul, and all; She can present joys meaner than you do, Convenient, and more proportional.

So, if I dream I have you, I have you,

For all our joys are but fantastical; And so I ’scape the pain, for pain is true; And sleep, which locks up sense, doth lock out all. After a such fruition I shall wake, And, but the waking, nothing shall repent;

She can present joys meaner than you do, Convenient, and more proportional. So, if I dream I have you, I have you, For all our joys are but fantastical; And so I ’scape the pain, for pain is true;

And sleep, which locks up sense, doth lock out all.

After a such fruition I shall wake, And, but the waking, nothing shall repent; And shall to love more thankful sonnets make, Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent. But, dearest heart and dearer image, stay; Alas!

After a such fruition I shall wake, And, but the waking, nothing shall repent; And shall to love more thankful sonnets make, Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent. But, dearest heart and dearer image, stay;

Alas! true joys at best are dream enough;

Though you stay here, you pass too fast away, For even at first life’s taper is a snuff. Fill’d with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

And shall to love more thankful sonnets make, Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent. But, dearest heart and dearer image, stay; Alas! true joys at best are dream enough; Though you stay here, you pass too fast away,

For even at first life’s taper is a snuff.

Fill’d with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

Take therefore all in this; I love so true, As I will never look for less in you.

Hark, news, O envy; thou shalt hear descried

My Julia; who as yet was ne’er envied. To vomit gall in slander, swell her veins With calumny, that hell itself disdains, Is her continual practice;

What time in years and judgment we reposed, Shall not so easily be to change disposed, Nor to the art of several eyes obeying, But beauty with true worth securely weighing; Which being found assembled in someone We’ll leave her ever, and love her alone.

Whoever loves, if he do not propose

The right true end of love, he’s one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick. Love is a bear-whelp born;

Whoever loves, if he do not propose

The right true end of love, he’s one that goes

To sea for nothing but to make him sick. Love is a bear-whelp born; if we o’er-lick Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take, We err, and of a lump a monster make.

Whoever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he’s one that goes

To sea for nothing but to make him sick.

Love is a bear-whelp born; if we o’er-lick Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take, We err, and of a lump a monster make. Were not a calf a monster, that were grown Faced like a man, though better than his own?

Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit For love, than this, as infinite as it. But in attaining this desired place How much they err, that set out at the face?

The hair a forest is of ambushes,

Of springes, snares, fetters, and manacles; The brow becalms us when ’tis smooth and plain, And when ’tis wrinkled, shipwrecks us again; Smooth, ’tis a paradise, where we would have Immortal stay, but wrinkled ’tis a grave.

For, as free spheres move faster far than can Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man Which goes this empty and ethereal way, Than if at beauty’s elements he stay.

Rich Nature in women wisely made

Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid. They then, which to the lower tribute owe, That way which that exchequer looks must go; He which doth not, his error is as great, As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

For, as free spheres move faster far than can Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man Which goes this empty and ethereal way, Than if at beauty’s elements he stay. Rich Nature in women wisely made

Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid.

They then, which to the lower tribute owe, That way which that exchequer looks must go; He which doth not, his error is as great, As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

They then, which to the lower tribute owe, That way which that exchequer looks must go; He which doth not, his error is as great, As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy;

Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight, Is tired with standing, though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering, But a far fairer world encompassing.

Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy; Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight, Is tired with standing, though he never fight.

Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering,

But a far fairer world encompassing. Unpin that spangled breastplate, which you wear, That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopp’d there. Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime Tells me from you that now it is bedtime.

Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy; Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight, Is tired with standing, though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering,

But a far fairer world encompassing.

Unpin that spangled breastplate, which you wear, That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopp’d there. Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime Tells me from you that now it is bedtime.

Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below. Oh, my America, my Newfoundland, My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d, My mine of precious stones, my empery; How am I blest in thus discovering thee!

To enter in these bonds, is to be free;

Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.

Oh, my America, my Newfoundland, My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d, My mine of precious stones, my empery; How am I blest in thus discovering thee! To enter in these bonds, is to be free;

Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee; As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views;

Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.

Oh, my America, my Newfoundland,

My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d, My mine of precious stones, my empery; How am I blest in thus discovering thee! To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.

How am I blest in thus discovering thee! To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;

As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views; That, when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem, His earthly soul might court that, not them.

Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views; That, when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem, His earthly soul might court that, not them. Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made For laymen, are all women thus array’d.

Themselves are only mystic books, which we

—Whom their imputed grace will dignify— Must see reveal’d. Then, since that I may know, As liberally as to thy midwife show Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence; There is no penance due to innocence: To teach thee, I am naked first;

Themselves are only mystic books, which we —Whom their imputed grace will dignify— Must see reveal’d. Then, since that I may know, As liberally as to thy midwife show Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence;

There is no penance due to innocence:

To teach thee, I am naked first; why then, What needst thou have more covering than a man?

Long voyages are long consumptions, And ships are carts for executions; Yea, they are deaths; is ’t not all one to fly Into another world, as ’tis to die?

Here let me war; in these arms let me lie:

Here let me parley, batter, bleed, and die. Thine arms imprison me, and my arms thee; Thy heart thy ransom is; take mine for me. Other men war, that they their rest may gain, But we will rest that we may fight again.

Here let me war; in these arms let me lie: Here let me parley, batter, bleed, and die. Thine arms imprison me, and my arms thee; Thy heart thy ransom is; take mine for me.

Other men war, that they their rest may gain,

But we will rest that we may fight again. Those wars th’ ignorant, these th’ experienced love; There we are always under, here above. There engines far off breed a just true fear; Near thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea, bullets, hurt not here.

Here let me war; in these arms let me lie: Here let me parley, batter, bleed, and die. Thine arms imprison me, and my arms thee; Thy heart thy ransom is; take mine for me. Other men war, that they their rest may gain,

But we will rest that we may fight again.

Those wars th’ ignorant, these th’ experienced love; There we are always under, here above. There engines far off breed a just true fear; Near thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea, bullets, hurt not here. There lies are wrongs; here safe uprightly lie. There men kill men;

this bridegroom to the temple bring. Lo, in yon path which store of strew’d flowers graceth, The sober virgin paceth; Except my sight fail, ’tis no other thing. Weep not, nor blush, here is no grief nor shame,

Today put on perfection, and a woman’s name.

Thy two-leaved gates, fair temple, unfold, And these two in thy sacred bosom hold, Till mystically join’d but one they be; Then may thy lean and hunger-starvèd womb Long time expect their bodies, and their tomb, Long after their own parents fatten thee.

All elder claims, and all cold barrenness, All yielding to new loves, be far forever, Which might these two dissever; Always, all th’other may each one possess; For the best bride, best worthy of praise and fame, Today puts on perfection, and a woman’s name.

Winter days bring much delight,

Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night; Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats, Other disports than dancing jollities, Other love-tricks than glancing with the eyes, But that the sun still in our half sphere sweats;

Winter days bring much delight,

Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night;

Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats, Other disports than dancing jollities, Other love-tricks than glancing with the eyes, But that the sun still in our half sphere sweats; He flies in winter, but he now stands still. Yet shadows turn;

This bed is only to virginity A grave, but to a better state, a cradle. Till now thou wast but able To be, what now thou art; then, that by thee No more be said, “I may be,” but “I am,”

Tonight put on perfection, and a woman’s name.

Even like a faithful man content, That this life for a better should be spent, So she a mother’s rich stile doth prefer, And at the bridegroom’s wish’d approach doth lie, Like an appointed lamb, when tenderly The priest comes on his knees, to embowel …

Thy virgin’s girdle now untie, And in thy nuptial bed, love’s altar, lie A pleasing sacrifice; now dispossess Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on To adorn the day, not thee; for thou, alone, Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness.

This bed is only to virginity

A grave, but to a better state, a cradle. Till now thou wast but able To be, what now thou art; then, that by thee No more be said, “I may be,” but “I am,” Tonight put on perfection, and a woman’s name.

now dispossess Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on To adorn the day, not thee; for thou, alone, Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness. This bed is only to virginity

A grave, but to a better state, a cradle.

Till now thou wast but able To be, what now thou art; then, that by thee No more be said, “I may be,” but “I am,” Tonight put on perfection, and a woman’s name.

None starve, none surfeit so. But oh, we allow Good works, as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws Within the vast reach of th’ huge statute’s jaws.

Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids

Those tears to issue, which swell my eyelids. I must not laugh, nor weep sins, and be wise. Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies?

last, Flesh, itself’s death, and joys which flesh can taste, Thou lovest; and thy fair goodly soul, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe.

Seek true religion, O where?

Mirreus, Thinking her unhoused here and fled from us, Seeks her at Rome, there, because he doth know That she was there a thousand years ago; And loves the rags so, as we here obey The state-cloth where the prince sat yesterday.

Though Truth and Falsehood be Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is. Be busy to seek her; believe me this, He’s not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best. To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad.

Doubt wisely; in strange way,

To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will Reach her, about must and about must go, And what th’ hill’s suddenness resists, win so.

Be busy to seek her; believe me this, He’s not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best. To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wisely; in strange way,

To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;

To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will Reach her, about must and about must go, And what th’ hill’s suddenness resists, win so.

To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wisely; in strange way, To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill,

Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will

Reach her, about must and about must go, And what th’ hill’s suddenness resists, win so. Yet strive so, that before age, death’s twilight, Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.

To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wisely; in strange way, To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will

Reach her, about must and about must go,

And what th’ hill’s suddenness resists, win so. Yet strive so, that before age, death’s twilight, Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. To will implies delay, therefore now do Hard deeds, the body’s pains; hard knowledge to The mind’s endeavours reach;

Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids

Those tears to issue, which swell my eyelids.

I must not laugh, nor weep sins, and be wise. Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies? Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of all our souls’ devotion, As virtue was in the first blinded age?

Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids Those tears to issue, which swell my eyelids.

I must not laugh, nor weep sins, and be wise.

Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies? Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of all our souls’ devotion, As virtue was in the first blinded age? Are not heaven’s joys as valiant to assuage Lusts, as earth’s honour was to them?

So perish souls, which more choose men’s unjust Power from God claim’d, than God Himself to trust.

Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin

Indeed is great, but yet I have been in A purgatory, such as fear’d hell is A recreation and scant map of this. My mind, nor with pride’s itch, nor yet hath been Poison’d with love to see, or to be seen.

Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin Indeed is great, but yet I have been in A purgatory, such as fear’d hell is

A recreation and scant map of this.

My mind, nor with pride’s itch, nor yet hath been Poison’d with love to see, or to be seen. I had no suit there, nor new suit to show, Yet went to court;

His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare; Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Velvet, but ’twas now—so much ground was seen— Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all.

The thing hath travell’d, and, faith, speaks all tongues,

And only knoweth what to all states belongs. Made of th’ accents and best phrase of all these, He speaks one language.

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Velvet, but ’twas now—so much ground was seen— Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all. The thing hath travell’d, and, faith, speaks all tongues,

And only knoweth what to all states belongs.

Made of th’ accents and best phrase of all these, He speaks one language.

Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin

Indeed is great, but yet I have been in

A purgatory, such as fear’d hell is A recreation and scant map of this. My mind, nor with pride’s itch, nor yet hath been Poison’d with love to see, or to be seen.

Therefore I suffer’d this; towards me did run

A thing more strange, than on Nile’s slime the sun

E’er bred, or all which into Noah’s ark came; A thing which would have posed Adam to name; Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies, Than Afric’s monsters, Guiana’s rarities; Stranger than strangers;

Therefore I suffer’d this; towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile’s slime the sun

E’er bred, or all which into Noah’s ark came;

A thing which would have posed Adam to name; Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies, Than Afric’s monsters, Guiana’s rarities; Stranger than strangers; one, who for a Dane, In the Danes’ massacre had sure been slain, If he had lived then;

Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin Indeed is great, but yet I have been in

A purgatory, such as fear’d hell is

A recreation and scant map of this. My mind, nor with pride’s itch, nor yet hath been Poison’d with love to see, or to be seen. I had no suit there, nor new suit to show, Yet went to court;

Therefore I suffer’d this; towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile’s slime the sun E’er bred, or all which into Noah’s ark came;

A thing which would have posed Adam to name;

Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies, Than Afric’s monsters, Guiana’s rarities; Stranger than strangers; one, who for a Dane, In the Danes’ massacre had sure been slain, If he had lived then; and without help dies, When next the ’prentices ’gainst strangers rise;

And whispers “By Jesu!” so often, that a Pursuivant would have ravish’d him away For saying of our Lady’s psalter. But ’tis fit

That they each other plague; they merit it.

But here comes Glorius, that will plague them both, Who in the other extreme, only doth Call a rough carelessness good fashion; Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, He cares not, he.

You, sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom I, By having leave to serve, am most richly For service paid, authorized now begin To know and weed out this enormous sin.

O age of rusty iron!

—some better wit Call it some worse name, if aught equal it— Th’ iron age that was, when justice was sold—now Injustice is sold dearer—did allow All claimed fees and duties.

she is established Recorder to Destiny on earth, and she Speaks Fate’s words, and but tells us who must be Rich, who poor; who in chairs, who in gaols. She is all fair, but yet hath foul long nails,

With which she scratcheth suitors;

in bodies Of men, so in law, nails are extremities. So officers stretch to more than law can do, As our nails reach what no else part comes to. Why barest thou to yon officer? Fool!

Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese Then Hammon if he sold his antiquities. O wretch, that thy fortunes should moralize Esop’s fables, and make tales prophecies. Thou art the swimming dog whom shadows cozened, And divest, near drowning, for what vanished.

Oh, to what height will love of greatness drive

Thy learned spirit, sesqui-superlative? Venice’ vast lake thou’st seen, and wouldst seek then Some vaster thing, and found’st a courtesan. That inland sea having discover’d well, A cellar-gulf, where one might sail to hell From Heidelberg, thou longed’st to see;

But hardly much; and yet I think this true; As Sibyl’s was, your book is mystical, For every piece is as much worth as all. Therefore mine impotency I confess; The healths, which my brain bears, must be far less;

Thy giant wit o’erthrows me; I am gone;

And rather than read all, I would read none.

and yet I think this true; As Sibyl’s was, your book is mystical, For every piece is as much worth as all. Therefore mine impotency I confess; The healths, which my brain bears, must be far less; Thy giant wit o’erthrows me; I am gone;

And rather than read all, I would read none.

Oh, to what height will love of greatness drive

Thy learned spirit, sesqui-superlative?

Venice’ vast lake thou’st seen, and wouldst seek then Some vaster thing, and found’st a courtesan. That inland sea having discover’d well, A cellar-gulf, where one might sail to hell From Heidelberg, thou longed’st to see; and thou This book, greater than all, producest now.

And what at first was call’d a gust, the same Hath now a storm’s, anon a tempest’s name. Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men Who, when the storm raged most, did wake thee then.

Sleep is pain’s easiest salve, and doth fulfil

All offices of death, except to kill. But when I waked, I saw that I saw not; I, and the sun, which should teach me, had forgot East, west, day, night;

And what at first was call’d a gust, the same Hath now a storm’s, anon a tempest’s name. Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men Who, when the storm raged most, did wake thee then. Sleep is pain’s easiest salve, and doth fulfil

All offices of death, except to kill.

But when I waked, I saw that I saw not; I, and the sun, which should teach me, had forgot East, west, day, night; and I could only say, If th’ world had lasted, now it had been day.

and I could only say, If th’ world had lasted, now it had been day. Thousands our noises were, yet we ’mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder, call.

Lightning was all our light, and it rain’d more

Than if the sun had drunk the sea before. Some coffin’d in their cabins lie, equally Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must die;

and I could only say, If th’ world had lasted, now it had been day. Thousands our noises were, yet we ’mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder, call. Lightning was all our light, and it rain’d more

Than if the sun had drunk the sea before.

Some coffin’d in their cabins lie, equally Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must die; And as sin-burden’d souls from grave will creep At the last day, some forth their cabins peep, And trembling ask, “What news?”

Pumping hath tired our men, and what’s the gain? Seas into seas thrown, we suck in again; Hearing hath deaf’d our sailors, and if they Knew how to hear, there’s none knows what to say.

Compared to these storms, death is but a qualm,

Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermudas calm. Darkness, light’s eldest brother, his birthright Claims o’er the world, and to heaven hath chasèd light. All things are one, and that one none can be, Since all forms uniform deformity Doth cover;

Pumping hath tired our men, and what’s the gain? Seas into seas thrown, we suck in again; Hearing hath deaf’d our sailors, and if they Knew how to hear, there’s none knows what to say. Compared to these storms, death is but a qualm,

Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermudas calm.

Darkness, light’s eldest brother, his birthright Claims o’er the world, and to heaven hath chasèd light. All things are one, and that one none can be, Since all forms uniform deformity Doth cover;

Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay A scourge, ’gainst which we all forget to pray. He that at sea prays for more wind, as well Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell.

What are we then? How little more, alas,

Is man now, than, before he was, he was? Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit; Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it. We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie, I should not then thus feel this misery.

Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay A scourge, ’gainst which we all forget to pray. He that at sea prays for more wind, as well Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell. What are we then? How little more, alas,

Is man now, than, before he was, he was?

Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit; Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it. We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie, I should not then thus feel this misery.

He that at sea prays for more wind, as well Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell. What are we then? How little more, alas, Is man now, than, before he was, he was?

Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit;

Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it. We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie, I should not then thus feel this misery.

How little more, alas, Is man now, than, before he was, he was? Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit; Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it. We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie, I should not then thus feel this misery.

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,

For thus, friends absent speak. This ease controls The tediousness of my life; but for these I could ideate nothing which could please; But I should wither in one day, and pass To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass.

Cities are worst of all three; of all three? O knotty riddle! each is worst equally. Cities are sepulchres; they who dwell there Are carcases, as if none such there were. And courts are theatres, where some men play

Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay.

The country is a desert, where the good, Gain’d, inhabits not, born, is not understood. There men become beasts, and prone to all evils; In cities blocks, and in a lewd court devils.

Falsehood is denizen’d; virtue is barbarous. Let no man say there, “Virtue’s flinty wall Shall lock vice in me, I’ll do none, but know all.”

Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive;

Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understandings sin began, Angels sinn’d first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not; wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity.

This ease controls The tediousness of my life; but for these I could ideate nothing which could please; But I should wither in one day, and pass To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass.

Life is a voyage, and in our lives’ ways

Countries, courts, towns are rocks, or remoras; They break or stop all ships, yet our state’s such, That though than pitch they stain worse, we must touch.

but for these I could ideate nothing which could please; But I should wither in one day, and pass To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass. Life is a voyage, and in our lives’ ways

Countries, courts, towns are rocks, or remoras;

They break or stop all ships, yet our state’s such, That though than pitch they stain worse, we must touch. If in the furnace of the raging line, Or under th’ adverse icy pole thou pine, Thou know’st two temperate regions, girded in, Dwell there;

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,

For thus, friends absent speak.

This ease controls The tediousness of my life; but for these I could ideate nothing which could please; But I should wither in one day, and pass To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass.

Shall cities built of both extremes be chosen? Can dung or garlic be perfume? Or can A scorpion or torpedo cure a man? Cities are worst of all three; of all three? O knotty riddle! each is worst equally.

Cities are sepulchres; they who dwell there

Are carcases, as if none such there were. And courts are theatres, where some men play Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay. The country is a desert, where the good, Gain’d, inhabits not, born, is not understood.

Can dung or garlic be perfume? Or can A scorpion or torpedo cure a man? Cities are worst of all three; of all three? O knotty riddle! each is worst equally. Cities are sepulchres; they who dwell there

Are carcases, as if none such there were.

And courts are theatres, where some men play Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay. The country is a desert, where the good, Gain’d, inhabits not, born, is not understood. There men become beasts, and prone to all evils;

Or can A scorpion or torpedo cure a man? Cities are worst of all three; of all three? O knotty riddle! each is worst equally. Cities are sepulchres; they who dwell there Are carcases, as if none such there were.

And courts are theatres, where some men play

Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay. The country is a desert, where the good, Gain’d, inhabits not, born, is not understood. There men become beasts, and prone to all evils; In cities blocks, and in a lewd court devils.

Only perchance beasts sin not; wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity. I think if men, which in these places live, Durst look in themselves, and themselves retrieve, They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing then Utopian youth grown old Italian.

Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell;

Inn anywhere; continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, Carrying his own house still, still is at home; Follow—for he is easy paced—this snail, Be thine own palace, or the world’s thy gaol.

Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell; Inn anywhere; continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, Carrying his own house still, still is at home;

Follow⁠—for he is easy paced⁠—this snail,

Be thine own palace, or the world’s thy gaol. And in the world’s sea do not like cork sleep Upon the water’s face; nor in the deep Sink like a lead without a line;

Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell; Inn anywhere; continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, Carrying his own house still, still is at home; Follow—for he is easy paced—this snail,

Be thine own palace, or the world’s thy gaol.

And in the world’s sea do not like cork sleep Upon the water’s face; nor in the deep Sink like a lead without a line; but as Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass, Nor making sound;

Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell;

Inn anywhere; continuance maketh hell.

And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, Carrying his own house still, still is at home; Follow—for he is easy paced—this snail, Be thine own palace, or the world’s thy gaol.

but if myself I’ve won To know my rules, I have, and you have Donne.

Who makes the past a pattern for next year,

Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads; Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear, And makes his life but like a pair of beads.

Who makes the past a pattern for next year, Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads; Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear,

And makes his life but like a pair of beads.

A palace, when ’tis that which it should be, Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays; But he which dwells there is not so; for he Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise.

Who makes the past a pattern for next year,

Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads;

Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear, And makes his life but like a pair of beads.

Who makes the past a pattern for next year, Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads;

Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear,

And makes his life but like a pair of beads.

So had your body her morning, hath her noon, And shall not better; her next change is night; But her fair, larger guest, to whom sun and moon Are sparks, and short-lived, claims another right.

The noble soul by age grows lustier;

Her appetite and her digestion mend. We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her With women’s milk, and pap, unto the end.

Our soul, whose country’s heaven, and God her Father, Into this world, corruption’s sink, is sent; Yet so much in her travel she doth gather,

That she returns home wiser than she went.

It pays you well, if it teach you to spare, And make you ashamed to make your hawks’ praise yours, Which when herself she lessens in the air, You then first say, that high enough she towers.

However, keep the lively taste you hold Of God; love Him as now, but fear Him more; And in your afternoons think what you told And promised Him, at morning prayer before.

Let falsehood like a discord anger you,

Else be not froward. But why do I touch Things of which none is in your practice new? And fables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much.

If our souls have stain’d their first white, yet we May clothe them with faith, and dear honesty, Which God imputes as native purity.

There is no virtue but religion.

Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names which none Want, which want not vice-covering discretion.

There is no virtue but religion. Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names which none Want, which want not vice-covering discretion.

Seek we then ourselves in ourselves; for as

Men force the sun with much more force to pass, By gathering his beams with a crystal glass,

So works retiredness in us. To roam Giddily and be everywhere, but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.

We are but farmers of ourselves, yet may,

If we can stock ourselves, and thrive, uplay Much, much dear treasure for the great rent day.

We are but farmers of ourselves, yet may, If we can stock ourselves, and thrive, uplay Much, much dear treasure for the great rent day.

Manure thyself then, to thyself be improved;

And with vain outward things be no more moved, But to know that I love thee and would be loved.

Suspicious boldness to this place belongs, And to have as many ears as all have tongues; Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.

Believe me, sir, in my youth’s giddiest days,

When to be like the court was a play’s praise, Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays.

Believe me, sir, in my youth’s giddiest days,

When to be like the court was a play’s praise,

Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays.

Believe me, sir, in my youth’s giddiest days, When to be like the court was a play’s praise,

Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays.

Then let us at these mimic antics jest, Whose deepest projects and egregious gests Are but dull morals of a game at chests.

Madam—

Reason is our soul’s left hand, faith her right;

By these we reach divinity, that’s you; Their loves, who have the blessing of your light, Grew from their reason; mine from fair faith grew.

Yet this is not your physic, but your food, A diet fit for you; for you are here The first good angel, since the world’s frame stood,

That ever did in woman’s shape appear.

Since you are then God’s masterpiece, and so His factor for our loves, do as you do; Make your return home gracious, and bestow This life on that; so make one life of two.

Yet this is not your physic, but your food, A diet fit for you; for you are here

The first good angel, since the world’s frame stood,

That ever did in woman’s shape appear.

Leaving then busy praise and all appeal To higher courts, sense’s decree is true. The mine, the magazine, the commonweal, The story of beauty, in Twickenham is, and you. Who hath seen one, would both; as, who had been In Paradise, would seek the cherubin.

Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be;

Wisdom makes him an ark, where all agree. The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar, Is sport to others, and a theatre. Nor ’scapes he so, but is himself their prey; All which was man in him, is eat away;

Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be;

Wisdom makes him an ark, where all agree.

The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar, Is sport to others, and a theatre. Nor ’scapes he so, but is himself their prey; All which was man in him, is eat away;

But in your commonwealth or world in you, Vice hath no office or good work to do. Take then no vicious purge, but be content With cordial virtue, your known nourishment.

This twilight of two years, not past, nor next,

Some emblem is of me, or I of this; Who—meteor-like, of stuff and form perplex’d, Whose what and where in disputation is— If I should call me anything, should miss.

This twilight of two years, not past, nor next,

Some emblem is of me, or I of this;

Who—meteor-like, of stuff and form perplex’d, Whose what and where in disputation is— If I should call me anything, should miss.

In recompense I would show future times What you were, and teach them to urge towards such.

Verse embalms virtue; and tombs, or thrones, of rhymes

Preserve frail transitory fame, as much As spice doth bodies from corrupt airs’ touch.

Madam—

Man to God’s image, Eve to man’s was made,

Nor find we that God breathed a soul in her; Canons will not Church functions you invade, Nor laws to civil office you prefer.

So I but your Recorder am in this, Or mouth, and Speaker of the universe, A ministerial notary, for ’tis Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse.

I was your prophet in your younger days,

And now your chaplain, God in you to praise.

I was your prophet in your younger days,

And now your chaplain, God in you to praise.

All hail, sweet poet, more full of more strong fire, Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit; I loved what nature gave thee, but thy merit Of wit and art I love not, but admire.

therefore I, Because I wish thee best, do thee envy; O, wouldst thou, by like reason, pity me. But care not for me; I, that ever was In nature’s, and in fortune’s gifts, alas —But for thy grace, got in the Muses’ school—

A monster and a beggar, am a fool.

Oh, how I grieve that late-born modesty Hath got such root in easy waxen hearts, That men may not themselves their own good parts Extol, without suspect of surquedry.

O, wouldst thou, by like reason, pity me. But care not for me; I, that ever was In nature’s, and in fortune’s gifts, alas —But for thy grace, got in the Muses’ school— A monster and a beggar, am a fool.

Oh, how I grieve that late-born modesty

Hath got such root in easy waxen hearts, That men may not themselves their own good parts Extol, without suspect of surquedry. For, but thyself, no subject can be found Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound Thy worth but thine;

Muse not that by thy mind thy body is led: For by thy mind, my mind’s distempered.

So thy care lives long, for I bearing part

It eats not only thine, but my swoll’n heart. And when it gives us intermission We take new hearts for it to feed upon. But as a lay man’s genius doth control Body and mind;

There thou o’erseest London: here I have been By staying in London, too much overseen. Now pleasure’s dearth our city doth posses,

Our theatres are filled with emptiness;

As lank and thin is every street and way As a woman delivered yesterday. Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espies But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I’ll leave it, and in the country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrieve.

There thou o’erseest London: here I have been By staying in London, too much overseen. Now pleasure’s dearth our city doth posses, Our theatres are filled with emptiness;

As lank and thin is every street and way

As a woman delivered yesterday. Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espies But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I’ll leave it, and in the country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrieve. Do thou so too:

There thou o’erseest London: here I have been By staying in London, too much overseen. Now pleasure’s dearth our city doth posses, Our theatres are filled with emptiness; As lank and thin is every street and way

As a woman delivered yesterday.

Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espies But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I’ll leave it, and in the country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrieve. Do thou so too:

There thou o’erseest London: here I have been By staying in London, too much overseen. Now pleasure’s dearth our city doth posses, Our theatres are filled with emptiness; As lank and thin is every street and way As a woman delivered yesterday.

Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espies

But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I’ll leave it, and in the country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrieve. Do thou so too:

here I have been By staying in London, too much overseen. Now pleasure’s dearth our city doth posses, Our theatres are filled with emptiness; As lank and thin is every street and way As a woman delivered yesterday. Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espies

But bearbaitings or Law exercise.

Therefore I’ll leave it, and in the country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrieve. Do thou so too:

Never did Morpheus nor his brother wear Shapes so like those shapes, whom they would appear, As this my letter is like me, for it Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind and wit.

It is my deed of gift of me to thee;

It is my will, myself the legacy.

Never did Morpheus nor his brother wear Shapes so like those shapes, whom they would appear, As this my letter is like me, for it Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind and wit. It is my deed of gift of me to thee;

It is my will, myself the legacy.

So thy retirings I love, yea envy, Bred in thee by a wise melancholy, That I rejoice, that unto where thou art, Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart, As kindly as any enamour’d patient His picture to his absent love hath …

All news I think sooner reach thee than me;

Havens are heavens, and ships wing’d angels be,

The which both gospel and stern threatenings bring. Guiana’s harvest is nipp’d in the spring, I fear; and with us, methinks, Fate deals so As with the Jews’ guide God did; He did show Him the rich land, but barr’d his entry in;

Our slowness is our punishment and sin. Perchance, these Spanish businesses being done, Which, as the earth between the moon and sun, Eclipse the light which Guiana would give, Our discontinued hopes we shall retrieve. But if—as all th’ All must—hopes smoke away,

Is not almighty virtue an India?

If men be worlds, there is in everyone Something to answer in some proportion All the world’s riches; and in good men this, Virtue, our form’s form and our soul’s soul, is.

for now I admire thee. And as air doth fulfil the hollowness Of rotten walls; so it mine emptiness, Where tossed and moved it did beget this sound Which as a lame echo of thine doth rebound

Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new life did give,

I recreated even by thy creature live.

And as air doth fulfil the hollowness Of rotten walls; so it mine emptiness, Where tossed and moved it did beget this sound Which as a lame echo of thine doth rebound Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new life did give,

I recreated even by thy creature live.

O Thou which to search out the secret parts Of the India, or rather Paradise Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice Lately launch’d into the vast sea of arts;

nor as those schismatics with you, Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew; But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry, I, though I brought no fuel, had desire With these articulate blasts to blow the fire.

Of that short roll of friends writ in my heart,

Which with thy name begins, since their depart, Whether in th’ English provinces they be, Or drink of Po, Sequane, or Danuby, There’s none that sometime greets us not, and yet Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget.

And I, as giddy travellers must do, Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost Light and strength, dark and tired must then ride post.

If thou unto thy Muse be married,

Embrace her ever, ever multiply; Be far from me that strange adultery To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood. My Muse—for I had one—because I’m cold, Divorced herself, the cause being in me.

If thou unto thy Muse be married,

Embrace her ever, ever multiply;

Be far from me that strange adultery To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood. My Muse—for I had one—because I’m cold, Divorced herself, the cause being in me. That I can take no new in bigamy, Not my will only, but power doth withhold.

So may thy woods oft poll’d, yet ever wear A green, and—when thee list—a golden hair; So may all thy sheep bring forth twins; and so In chase and race may thy horse all outgo;

So may thy love and courage ne’er be cold;

Thy son ne’er ward; thy loved wife ne’er seem old. But mayst thou wish great things, and them attain, As thou tell’st her, and none but her, my pain.

But, though she part us, to hear my oft prayers For your increase, God is as near me here; And to send you what I shall beg, His stairs In length and ease are alike everywhere.

Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn

With all those sons whom my brain did create; At least lie hid with me, till thou return To rags again, which is thy native state.

Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn

With all those sons whom my brain did create;

At least lie hid with me, till thou return To rags again, which is thy native state.

And then, cold speechless wretch, thou diest again, And wisely; what discourse is left for thee? From speech of ill, and her, thou must abstain;

And is there any good which is not she?

Yet may’st thou praise her servants, though not her; And wit, and virtue, and honour her attend; And since they’re but her clothes, thou shalt not err, If thou her shape, and beauty, and grace commend.

Mark if, to get them, she o’erskip the rest; Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name; Mark if she do the same that they protest;

Mark if she mark whether her woman came.

Mark if slight things be objected, and o’erblown; Mark if her oaths against him be not still Reserved, and that she grieves she’s not her own, And chides the doctrine that denies freewill.

Mark if, to get them, she o’erskip the rest;

Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name;

Mark if she do the same that they protest; Mark if she mark whether her woman came.

I bid thee not do this to be my spy, Nor to make myself her familiar; But so much I do love her choice, that I Would fain love him that shall be loved of her.

Honour is so sublime perfection,

And so refined, that when God was alone And creatureless at first, Himself had none.

Honour is so sublime perfection,

And so refined, that when God was alone

And creatureless at first, Himself had none.

Honour is so sublime perfection, And so refined, that when God was alone

And creatureless at first, Himself had none.

But as of th’ elements, these which we tread, Produce all things with which we’re joyed or fed, And those are barren both above our head;

But as of th’ elements, these which we tread, Produce all things with which we’re joyed or fed, And those are barren both above our head;

So from low persons doth all honour flow;

Kings, whom they would have honour’d, to us show, And but direct our honour, not bestow.

So from low persons doth all honour flow;

Kings, whom they would have honour’d, to us show,

And but direct our honour, not bestow.

So from low persons doth all honour flow; Kings, whom they would have honour’d, to us show,

And but direct our honour, not bestow.

For when from herbs the pure part must be won From gross, by ’stilling, this is better done By despised dung, than by the fire of sun.

but that if everything Be not done fitly and in proportion, To satisfy wise and good lookers-on —Since most men be such as most think they be— They’re loathsome too, by this deformity. For good, and well, must in our actions meet;

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

But beauty’s other second element, Colour and lustre, now is as near spent. And had the world his just proportion, Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone. As a compassionate turquoise, which doth tell, By looking pale, the wearer is not well;

Whose composition was miraculous, Being all colour, all diaphanous, For air and fire but thick gross bodies were, And liveliest stones but drowsy and pale to her; She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this,

Thou know’st how wan a ghost this our world is;

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy, That it should more affright than pleasure thee;

Such an opinion, in due measure, made Me this great office boldly to invade; Nor could incomprehensibleness deter Me from thus trying to imprison her; Which when I saw that a strict grave could do, I saw not why verse might not do so too.

Verse hath a middle nature; heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrolls.

’Tis loss to trust a tomb with such a guest, Or to confine her in a marble chest. Alas! what’s marble, jet, or porphyry, Prized with the chrysolite of either eye, Or with those pearls and rubies which she was?

And when the very stature, thus erect, Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct. Where is this mankind now? who lives to age Fit to be made Methusalem his page?

Alas! we scarce live long enough to try Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.

Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow; And for our children we reserve tomorrow. So short is life, that every peasant strives, In a torn house, or field, to have three lives;

Where is this mankind now? who lives to age Fit to be made Methusalem his page? Alas! we scarce live long enough to try Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.

Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow; And for our children we reserve tomorrow.

So short is life, that every peasant strives, In a torn house, or field, to have three lives; And as in lasting, so in length is man, Contracted to an inch, who was a span.

now, alas! The fairies and the pygmies well may pass As credible; mankind decays so soon, We’re scarce our fathers’ shadows cast at noon.

Only death adds to our length; nor are grown In stature to be men, till we are none.

But this were light, did our less volume hold All the old text; or had we changed to gold Their silver, or disposed into less glass Spirits of virtue, which then scatter’d was. But ’tis not so; we’re not retired, but damp’d;

or had we changed to gold Their silver, or disposed into less glass Spirits of virtue, which then scatter’d was. But ’tis not so; we’re not retired, but damp’d; And, as our bodies, so our minds are cramp’d.

’Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus In mind and body both bedwarfed us.

We seem ambitious God’s whole work to undo; Of nothing He made us, and we strive too To bring ourselves to nothing back; and we Do what we can to do ’t so soon as He.

But ’tis not so; we’re not retired, but damp’d; And, as our bodies, so our minds are cramp’d. ’Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus In mind and body both bedwarfed us. We seem ambitious God’s whole work to undo;

Of nothing He made us, and we strive too To bring ourselves to nothing back

; and we Do what we can to do ’t so soon as He. With new diseases on ourselves we war, And with new physic, a worse engine far.

… this Thou know’st how poor a trifling thing man is, And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy, The heart being perish’d, no part can be free, And that except thou feed, not banquet, on The supernatural food, religion, Thy better growth grows withered and scant;

Be more than man, or thou’rt less than an ant.

Then as mankind, so is the world’s whole frame, Quite out of joint, almost created lame; For before God had made up all the rest, Corruption enter’d and depraved the best.

And yet one watches, starves, freezes, and sweats, To know but catechisms and alphabets Of unconcerning things, matters of fact, How others on our stage their parts did act, What Caesar did, yea, and what Cicero said.

Why grass is green, or why our blood is red, Are mysteries which none have reach’d unto.

In this low form, poor soul, what wilt thou do? When wilt thou shake off this pedantry, Of being taught by sense and fantasy? Thou look’st through spectacles; small things seem great Below;

The world is but a carcass; thou art fed By it, but as a worm that carcass bred; And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more When this world will grow better than before, Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon That carcass’s last resurrection?

Forget this world, and scarce think of it so, As of old clothes cast off a year ago.

To be thus stupid is alacrity; Men thus lethargic have best memory. Look upward; that’s towards her, whose happy state We now lament not, but congratulate.

But think that death hath now enfranchised thee; Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty. Think that a rusty piece, discharged, is flown In pieces, and the bullet is his own, And freely flies; this to thy soul allow.

Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch’d but now.

And think this slow-paced soul which late did cleave To a body, and went but by the body’s leave, Twenty perchance, or thirty mile a day, Dispatches in a minute all the way ’Twixt heaven and earth;

But we may ’scape that sin, yet weep as much; Our tears are due because we are not such. Some tears, that knot of friends, her death must cost, Because the chain is broke, but no link lost.

Language, thou art too narrow and too weak To ease us now; great sorrows cannot speak.

If we could sigh out accents, and weep words, Grief wears, and lessens, that tears breath affords.

less is their gain Than hazard still, to meditate on ill, Though with good mind; their reason’s like those toys Of glassy bubbles, which the gamesome boys Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill That they themselves break, and do themselves spill.

Arguing is heretics’ game, and exercise As wrestlers perfects them.

Not liberties Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, end heresies.

Fate not affording bodies of more worth For her as yet, bids her again retire To another fish, to any new desire Made a new prey; for he that can to none Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone.

Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression.

Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, But oft retarded, once with a hidden net Though with great windows—for when need first taught These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought As now, …

The sun hath twenty times both crab and goat Parched, since first launch’d forth this living boat. ’Tis greatest now, and to destruction Nearest; there’s no pause at perfection;

Greatness a period hath, but hath no station.

Two little fishes, whom he never harm’d, Nor fed on their kind, two not throughly arm’d With hope that they could kill him, nor could do Good to themselves by his death—they did not eat His flesh, nor suck those oils, which thence out-streat— Conspired …

wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, By cursed Caïn’s race invented be, And blest Seth vex’d us with astronomy.

There’s nothing simply good, nor ill alone; Of every quality Comparison The only measure is, and judge, Opinion.

But who am I, that dare dispute with Thee? O God, O! of Thine only worthy blood, And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drown in it my sin’s black memory. That Thou remember them, some claim as debt;

I think it mercy if Thou wilt forget.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

O God, O! of Thine only worthy blood, And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drown in it my sin’s black memory. That Thou remember them, some claim as debt; I think it mercy if Thou wilt forget.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Thou’rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me, For I have sinn’d, and sinn’d, and only He, Who could do no iniquity, hath died.

No, no; but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, Beauty of pity, foulness only is A sign of rigour; so I say to thee, To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign’d; This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind.

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurp’d town, to another due, Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betroth’d unto your enemy; Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Wilt thou love God as He thee? then digest, My soul, this wholesome meditation, How God the Spirit, by angels waited on In heaven, doth make His temple in thy breast.

And as a robb’d man, which by search doth find His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again, The Sun of glory came down, and was slain, Us whom He had made, and Satan stole, to unbind.

’Twas much, that man was made like God before, But, that God should be made like man, much more.

Father, part of His double interest Unto Thy kingdom Thy Son gives to me; His jointure in the knotty Trinity He keeps, and gives to me his death’s conquest.

Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet Whether a man those statutes can fulfil. None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit Revive again what law and letter kill.

Thy law’s abridgement, and Thy last command Is all but love; O let this last Will stand!

Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt To nature, and to hers, and my good is dead, And her soul early into heaven ravished, Wholly on heavenly things my mind is set.

as infinite, as none. I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today In prayers, and flattering speeches I court God: Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod. So my devout fits come and go away Like a fantastic ague: save that here

Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

Since Christ embraced the cross itself, dare I His image, th’ image of His cross, deny? Would I have profit by the sacrifice, And dare the chosen altar to despise?

let their blood come To beg for us a discreet patience Of death, or of worse life; for

O, to some Not to be martyrs, is a martyrdom.

Therefore with Thee triumpheth there A virgin squadron of white confessors, Whose bloods betroth’d not married were, Tender’d, not taken by those ravishers. They know, and pray that we may know, In every Christian Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow; Temptations martyr us alive;

Therefore with Thee triumpheth there A virgin squadron of white confessors, Whose bloods betroth’d not married were, Tender’d, not taken by those ravishers. They know, and pray that we may know, In every Christian Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow;

Temptations martyr us alive; a man Is to himself a Diocletian.

The cold white snowy nunnery, Which, as Thy Mother, their high abbess, sent Their bodies back again to Thee, As Thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent;

Seal then this bill of my divorce to all, On whom those fainter beams of love did fall; Marry those loves, which in youth scatter’d be On fame, wit, hopes—false mistresses—to Thee.

Churches are best for prayer, that have least light; To see God only, I go out of sight;

And to escape stormy days, I choose An everlasting night.